


Metaphorically

by breeisonfire



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Pre-Slash, Suicidal Thoughts, ignores season four, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-13
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2018-02-08 15:40:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1946742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breeisonfire/pseuds/breeisonfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He should be a ghost. He should be dead. He should be the one whose funeral they dress up for and go to. He should be the one who the preacher says died too early, the one whose life they ‘celebrate’ as they get up one by one to say something about the dead and how they touched their life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Metaphorically

**Author's Note:**

> So...Tyler Hoechlin mentioned he wanted a scene where Derek let Stiles take his anger out on him, and my friend was talking about the pack looking at the stars on the roof, and this kind of happened? This also came out of my frustration that Stiles is acting like 3b didn't affect him at all, and how everyone seems to have just forgotten they lost a pretty good friend.
> 
> This can be read as Sterek, or not. It's definitely pre-relationship in any case, so do with that what you will.
> 
> **Also, a warning because I don't want to trigger anyone, there are mentions of suicidal thoughts, lots of them, and depression as well.**
> 
> Beta'd by the fantastic and wonderful [thelolunicorn](http://thelolunicorn.tumblr.com/).

At first Stiles feels like a ghost. Intangible, able to see what’s going on, able to communicate, but none of it really affecting him.

He _should_ be a ghost. He should be dead. He should be the one whose funeral they dress up for and go to. He should be the one who the preacher says died too early, the one whose life they ‘celebrate’ as they get up one by one to say something about the dead and how they touched their life.

Stiles isn’t the dead one, though. Allison is. Allison’s the one who died, and it’s his fault, and even the relief in his father’s face and the way Scott had hugged him and cried for hours after the nogitsune had finally been taken care of doesn’t make Stiles feel better about surviving.

Survivor’s guilt is what the therapist they force  him to see calls it. She tells him it’s not his fault he survived the attack on him and his friends. That’s the cover story: he, Lydia, Scott, Isaac, Kira, and Allison were attacked by knife-wielding gang members. A horrible accident, the news called it. It’s a miracle none of the others were hurt, really. They shouldn’t have been out after dark, it was dangerous.

The worst one was when one of the other police officers had told them that clearly God had a purpose in keeping them alive. Stiles had felt this sense of rage at that and his dad had pulled him out of the room and sat with him until he’d stopped shaking. His dad was good like that. He knew what to do.

Stiles wasn’t the only one dealing with this. Scott comes over on a regular basis and he listens to Scott and his story. Stiles wishes he wouldn’t; he can’t look at him without thinking about the fierce joy the nogitsune had felt when he’d impaled Scott with a sword. Scott’s never lost someone close to him, not someone who leaves a constant hole in his day-to-day life, and he seems to be in some sort of denial. Stiles doesn’t know what he’ll do when the inevitable crash comes. He doesn’t think about it.

Scott asks how he’s doing every time he’s there. The answer is always the same.

“I’m alive.”

Scott takes this as good news. Stiles just thinks it’s a fact.

He knows his dad is worried about him. He doesn’t blame him. Most days, Stiles acts and feels like a zombie. He feels numb, and doesn’t care about anything. His grades are slipping, he’s losing weight, he’s not taking his Adderall. He stops talking. He can’t bring himself to give a fuck about anything.

On the other days, Stiles feels this inexplicable and relentless anger about everything. It terrifies him. It reminds him of the nogitsune, of the emotions he’d been able to feel even after the nogitsune had left his body. He hates it, and that just adds to the anger. He starts skipping school on those days and spends hours in the woods, not caring about who or what might be able to hear him. He takes his bat and hits trees with it, yells at the sky, wears himself out until he’s finally exhausted enough that the nightmares he usually has don’t wake him.

Life seems to go on around him. He doesn’t know why. He’d rather his life didn’t. His therapist tells his dad he’s suicidal, but that’s not exactly right. He doesn’t want to end his own life. He just doesn’t want to exist. Scott tries to talk to him, to get him to do something, but Stiles doesn’t respond. Lydia calls him, brings him his extra work, even asks him out on a date in a desperate attempt to get him to show some life, but Stiles doesn’t bother. He knows they’ve got their own problems and that he shouldn’t be adding onto it, but he just doesn’t care.

Kira visits once, but she just stands in the doorway of his bedroom awkwardly before blurting out that she was glad he was okay and giving him a quick hug and a smile before running out the door. Isaac doesn’t show up, and he learns from Scott that Isaac left town at the same time as Mr. Argent, and he thinks they went together. That’s weird, but Stiles doesn’t think about it.

Ethan’s left town, too, and Scott’s pretty sure he went south. He’s talking about trying to contact him and let him stay, but he doesn’t want to offend Derek or Isaac and he doesn’t trust him. Stiles doesn’t know why Scott’s bothering to tell him any of this. It’s probably Scott trying to pretend everything is normal.

Christmas comes and goes, and Stiles can’t even bring himself to sing any carols. Dinner is awkward and depressing, and his dad tries to get him to talk, to do something or say anything, and Stiles just picks at a loose string on his pajama pants and stares at the wall.

His dad finally sits on the couch next to him and says, “Just tell me what you need. Tell me what to do, Stiles. Please.”

Stiles doesn’t have an answer for him, and eventually his dad gets up and goes into the kitchen.

Later that night, Stiles sits in his bed, with his hands pulling at his hair, trying to feel something, _anything_ , if only for his dad. But he just feels empty.

Everyone seems to give up after that. Scott still talks to him, but he won’t look at him. Lydia still brings his work when he misses, and still smiles at him. His dad sits on the couch next to him with the TV on and doesn’t say anything.

January passes the same way. Stiles knows if he doesn’t bring his grades up, or at least show up at school sometimes, he’s not going to get into any good colleges, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to go to college anyway. He doesn’t want to make it to college. He just wants it all to stop.

The second day of February, Stiles comes downstairs to the kitchen to drink some coffee and finds Chris Argent sitting at the table, talking to his dad. Chris looks awful. His hair is messy, his clothes are rumpled, and he’s grown facial hair. He looks as if he’s gone wild for the past couple months, and for the first time in months, Stiles feels something, something like grief.

They both look up when they hear Stiles, and Chris actually gives him a small smile, and something inside Stiles breaks at the sight of it. Emotions are running through him. He can’t deal with it, and just goes out the front door, ignoring the fact that he’s still in pajamas and doesn’t even have shoes on.

He’s in the Jeep before he knows it, and it occurs to him that he probably shouldn’t be driving right now, but it isn’t enough to stop him from driving. He just drives, and wonders if it would be easier for everyone if he just drove straight into a tree.

The answer is probably not, because at the very least, funerals are expensive, so he keeps driving. He doesn’t think about it, and ends up at the preserve. He gets out of the Jeep and stares at the ‘No Entry After Dark’ sign and thinks how much easier their lives would all be if he had actually paid attention to it, instead of dragging Scott out in the middle of the night to look for half of a dead body.

He’s not sure how long he stands there staring at it before he hears a, “Jesus, Stiles,” from behind him and jumps before spinning in a circle. Derek’s standing there, looking like he’d just woken up, ever-present leather jacket on and phone in hand. He looks cautious, like he doesn’t know what to do, and Stiles is suddenly aware of the fact that there are tears running down his face. He doesn’t know how long he’s been crying, but he’s breathing fast, and his head hurts, and his foot stings.

“Stiles?” Derek says, and moves closer slowly. “Your dad called, he’s worried. Are you awake?”

Stiles blinks, and feel a burst of laughter bubble out of him before he can stop it. He chokes out, “Yes,” before his legs give out and he sits down hard.

Derek moves like he was going to catch him, but stops halfway there. He straightens back up, shifts uncomfortably for a few moments, then sits down next to Stiles. He doesn’t say anything, just sits there, and Stiles pulls his knees to his chest and rests his head on them.

For a long time, the only sounds are Stiles’s choking sobs, and a bird nearby. Stiles is trying to deal with the emotions he’s being attacked with, the first in months. He feels like he’s been drowning for a long time, only to make it to the surface and breathe in poisonous gas. He doesn’t know what to do and doesn’t want to move.

Finally, Derek breaks the silence. “It wasn’t your fault. There wasn’t anything you could have done that you weren’t already doing. You were _used_ , Stiles, against your will, and trust me when I say I know how you’re feeling. But it’s not your fault, and it will never be your fault, and no one blames you.”

Stiles feels himself tense up at the words. He doesn’t believe them. Can’t believe them, not when he remembers fighting for his mind, and for his body.

Derek sighs, like he knows where Stiles’s mind is going. And maybe he does. Stiles knows about Kate. He’s pretty sure he’s the only one who knows what Kate did to Derek. He knows, because he’d put the pieces together. Derek knows he knows, because Stiles had yelled it at him in the hospital. Stiles never told anyone, not even Scott, because Scott doesn’t need to know and it makes Stiles sick just thinking about it.

Again, it’s Derek who breaks the silence. “Scott says you’re not talking to anyone. I did that, too. Laura spent months trying to get me to talk. She’d tell me the same thing I’m telling you, and every time I’d think about how I didn’t tell her about Kate, and she didn’t know the whole story, and if she did she’d definitely blame me. I didn’t believe her for a long time. She died before I believed her. But she was right. I couldn’t control Kate. I had no idea what she was going to do. Maybe she would have been able to do it without me. Maybe I would have died, too. For a long time, I wished I had.”

Stiles can’t stop the sharp intake of breath. He feels Derek looking at him, but he doesn’t raise his head. After a moment, Derek continues.

“You couldn’t control what the nogitsune did. You fought back, we know you did. But just because you didn’t win the fight, doesn’t mean it’s your fault. I know you don’t believe me yet, but you will.”

“No,” the word bursts out of Stiles before he can stop it. “It’s not the same thing. You weren’t feeling everything Kate was feeling, you didn’t know exactly what the nogitsune was planning. You didn’t _stab your best friend in the stomach_. You didn’t help set up a bomb that only by chance didn’t kill your father.”

He’s yelling now, having some point got to his feet. Derek’s on his feet, too, standing in a tense but not aggressive way. Stiles is just irritated by that more. He wants a fight, wants someone to yell at him instead of just pleading with him.

“You didn’t send a serial killer after some innocent girl! I threw you into a _wall_ and used you as a shield, why aren’t you angry about that?”

“Because it wasn’t you!” Derek shouts. “The _nogitsune_ did all of that stuff, Stiles, _you_ were just a victim. It’s _not your fault_.”

“Stop saying that!” Stiles yells. “ _Stop it_.”

“Why?” Derek asks. “Because it’s true. It wasn’t your fault.”

“ _Shut up_!”

Derek doesn’t look surprised when Stiles punches him in the chest. He doesn’t move to stop him, and he just takes it when Stiles hits him again, and again, and again, and again. He puts everything he has into the hits; all the feelings of helplessness as he watched, trapped in his own head, as the nogitsune used his body to kill people. He puts in the frustration that he couldn’t communicate with anyone; his anger at being used in that way; his grief over Allison’s death, and the other deaths; his guilt because he didn’t stop any of it. He’s blinded by tears, and he’s pretty sure he’s making some sort of indecipherable angry noise, but he doesn’t care.

Finally, Stiles starts to slow down, and then stops, his fists still held up. His head is down, and he’s still crying, but he’s starting to control it.

Derek takes Stiles’s wrists and lowers his hands. “Feel better?”

“You’re an asshole,” Stiles chokes out.

“I know.”

For some reason, that response makes Stiles choke out a laugh. Derek lets go of his wrists and says, “Come on. I’ll drive you home. I don’t think you should drive like that.”

Stiles doesn’t argue. The emotions are still rushing through him, but he’s finally starting to control them, and by the time Derek parks the Jeep in the driveway of his house, Stiles is starting to feel like a human being again.

“Look,” Derek says slowly. “If you -- if you need that again, or to talk, or to -- whatever, call me. Just don’t shut down, again, okay?”

Stiles doesn’t know what to say to that. He just nods and Derek nods back, and gets out of the car. Stiles watches him walk for a long moment before following suit and walking to the door.

His dad is sitting on the couch in the living room when he walks in, and gets to his feet immediately. Stiles looks at him, at the relief and worry on his face, and just wordlessly walks to him and hugs him tightly.

His dad is clearly caught off guard, but he wastes no time in hugging Stiles back. They stay that way for a long time, just hugging each other. Stiles presses his face into the side of his dad’s neck, and whispers, “I’m sorry.”

His dad lets out a long breath. “It’s not your fault.”

It seems impossible, but somehow that makes Stiles’s eyes tear up again, and he takes one long, shuddering breath before saying in a small voice, “It feels like it is.”

“God, kid,” his dad says. “I don’t know what exactly it did to you, but I do know that nothing it did is your fault, and if I have to remind you every day for the rest of your life, I will, so help me God.”

Stiles doesn’t know what to say to that, just hugs tighter.

His dad ends up not going to work that day, and they sit together on the couch, watching cartoons and eating pizza. His dad looks at him every so often like he’s afraid Stiles will disappear, or shut down again, and the look of relief every time he looks back hurts Stiles. He’d never wanted to scare his dad like this.

The next day is Sunday, and his dad has to go into work. Stiles decides he’s going to spend the day outside of the house, and digs out his key to Scott’s house. He lets himself in the front door and Melissa immediately pulls him into a hug before he can even apologize for barging in. She just holds him for a minute, and Stiles just gives in and hugs back. He’s resigned himself to a lot of hugs today.

Melissa pulls away and says, “ _Don’t_ do that again. You had everyone worried sick.”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles says, feeling his guilt crawling back in.

Melissa’s face immediately softens. “I didn’t mean it that way, Stiles. We were just worried we were going to lose you, too. You just,” she stops and waves her hands, making an annoyed noise like she can’t find the words she wants to use. Stiles watches, bewildered, until she finally comes up with, “You’re too important.”

Stiles feels his mouth fall open and has to force himself to speak around a lump in his throat he hadn’t noticed forming. “Uh. Right.”

Melissa smacks the side of his head softly and says, “Go talk to Scott.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Stiles says automatically, and Melissa smiles at him before moving out of his way. Stiles goes up the stairs and around the corner, following the path he knows so well and after a second of hesitation, opens the door.

Scott’s sitting up on his bed, facing the door, looking slightly confused. The confusion disappears as soon as he sees Stiles, and he pushes up and off the bed, stopping right in front of Stiles.

“Dude,” he says, giving Stiles a smile. “What’s up?”

Stiles opens his mouth, then closes it. Scott looks exhausted, and though he’s smiling, there’s a look in his eyes that clearly states he’s still grieving. There’s relief there, too, and Stiles remembers what Melissa has said, and swallows hard. “Hey.”

Scott apparently can’t help himself, and hug Stiles, too, before they sit at the computer and surf the internet for a while, watching dumb videos like they’d always done. It doesn’t feel quite right -- Stiles is still pretty quiet, and Scott gets this look every now and then like he’s been punched in the gut -- but it’s _something_ , and it makes it clear that Scott doesn’t blame Stiles in the slightest.

It’s strange that relief can make someone as sick as grief.

Eventually, Stiles tells Scott he has to go see Lydia. Scott doesn’t argue, but makes Stiles promise that he’ll go to school the next day. Stiles leaves, saying good-bye to Melissa, who hugs him again, and heads to the Jeep.

Lydia hugs him for nearly five minutes when he opens the door, then tells him he’s not allowed to do that again. Then she hugs him again. Stiles feels horrible for leaving her alone when her best friend and sort-of-boyfriend had just died.

“Don’t apologize, you idiot,” she says when he tries. “I can’t even imagine how you’re feeling. You’re allowed to be upset, and you shouldn’t disregard those feelings just because someone else is sad, too. Now shut up, we’re watching _Mean Girls_.”

Stiles doesn’t argue, just sits down next to her on the couch. Lydia insists on splitting her snacks with him, and tells him if he doesn’t start eating right soon, she’s going to set one of the werewolves on him.

“Don’t worry,” Stiles says. “Literally everyone’s told me. I just haven’t been hungry.”

Lydia just nods and moves on. “If you need help with any of the subjects, I can help. I’ve been taking notes, and I’ve shared them with Scott, and Kira. I can share them with you, too.”

“That would be great, Lydia,” Stiles says honestly, and she hugs him again.

She makes him stay for dinner, which is a great stir fry her mom makes. It tastes delicious, though Stiles doesn’t eat much, and Lydia lets him leave after another lecture on eating right.

He’s got one final stop for the day, though he hadn’t meant to go this late. He pulls up to the building Derek’s loft is in, hoping he doesn’t wake him up. The fear turns out to be futile, however, because after five minutes of knocking it becomes clear that Derek is not in his loft. Stiles stands there for a minute, not knowing what to do. Finally, he just pulls the door open, and goes inside.

It’s clean, and as bare as it usually is. Stiles used to suggest decoration ideas to Derek all the time. None of them had ever been used, but they’d always made Derek raise his eyebrows and whoever else was with them laugh. Stiles had forgotten about that, and feels himself smile. His face feels stiff when he smiles, but it feels good to finally do so.

He sits on the couch for a couple of minutes, but he’s having a hard time pushing the echoes of “Shoot me!” out of his head, so he goes over to the door to the roof and opens it.

It’s a bit windy outside, and it’s sort of chilly as the sun is setting, but the view of the town and the sky is great, and Stiles sits down on the ground, lean against the wall, and stares up at the sky as the stars become visible.

There had been a time, when his mom was still somewhat healthy, where he’d been obsessed with the stars. His mom had known a lot about the constellations, and the stories and mythology, and she’d sit outside with him and point them out, teaching him about how the earth moved. She’d always told him that as long as he could see the stars, he would never be lost. At the time, Stiles had assumed she’d meant in a literal way, since she’d taught him how to navigate using the stars, but sometimes he thought maybe she meant it metaphorically, as a way to comfort him. He let himself believe both.

He hears the door open and Derek’s voice says, “Stiles?”

Stiles turns as Derek appears around the wall. The look on his face is somewhat relieved, and Stiles wonders if Derek thought he was going to jump. He shakes the thought off, and says, “Hey. Uh, you weren’t here, and I just kinda --,” he waves his hand towards the sky.

Derek raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything. He sits down, too, and leans his head back against the wall. Stiles mimics him, and stares at the sky again.

“I just, uh, wanted to say thanks,” Stiles finally says. “For yesterday.”

He hears Derek sigh. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“I kinda do,” Stiles says. He doesn’t want to make Derek uncomfortable or anything, but he thinks Derek should know exactly what he did, so he clears his throat and says, “On my way to the preserve, I had to talk myself out of driving into a tree at least five times.”

This time, it’s Derek who inhales sharply. Stiles doesn’t let it dissuade him.

“I only stopped myself because funerals are expensive, and we’re having enough problems with money, what with the MRI and the hospital bills, and Eichen House. So.”

Derek doesn’t say anything. Stiles isn’t even sure he’s breathing. He’s carefully not looking at Derek, because he’s not sure he can look anyone in the eye when saying that. He’s not even sure how the hell he’s going to tell his therapist, if and when he does so. He’s never telling Scott, because that conversation would be all kinds of awkward and Scott is his bro, but they’ve never exactly talked about what happened at the motel and most likely were never going to. He doesn’t want to bring it up.

He’ll probably tell his dad in the long run. His dad probably already knows, but it’ll be important for Stiles to tell him. And it’ll be important for his dad to hear it. He’ll probably hear about Derek’s confession, too, and Stiles has no doubt that his dad will somehow find a way to thank Derek for it. And it will make Derek profoundly uncomfortable. Somehow, Stiles doesn’t think his dad will care much.

Finally, Derek says, “I’m glad I was able to help.”

He sounds so professional that Stiles can’t help but snort, and somehow he dissolves into full-blown laughter. There’s absolutely nothing funny about this situation, but that doesn’t stop Stiles, and he nearly falls over laughing as Derek just stares at him. His eyebrows are raised, and Stiles thinks absently that they look like they’re about to come to life and crawl off his face, like caterpillars, and really does fall over this time.

By the time he finally calms down, Derek is staring back at the sky, the corner of his mouth twitching, and the sun has completely disappeared. The moon is blocked from their view, since the wall is in the way, but there’s still enough light for Stiles to see.

His abs hurt from laughing, and his head hurts, and he’s pretty sure he’s got a long and bumpy way to go before he’s considered ‘well,’ but up there on the roof, looking at the stars in the cool, night air, Stiles finally feels like he’ll be okay. And that’s enough for him.


End file.
